Hunter Hunted
by Graveygraves
Summary: To every action there is a reaction. The problem is when the reactions effects others. One reckless weekend leaves Derek risking losing the most important part of his life. Rating change purely for language. Beta'd, please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**This is an idea I had a while ago and has taken a while to get it ready to post. It hasn't gone as I originally planned, but I hope it has taken the right path.  
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**. . . . . . .**

"_Hunting is not a sport._

_In a sport, both sides should know they're in the game."_

_**Paul Rodriguez**_

. . . . . . .

One day he was going to learn. Derek considered himself an intelligent man, yet he still had trouble with the basic equation: party hard, plus drink lots, equals pounding head. It wasn't as if you needed to be a Reid like genius to figure that one out, yet over the years it had eluded him, time and time again.

Swinging by the kitchen area, as he entered the bullpen, Derek was pleased to see a pot full of strong black coffee. He poured himself two. Making his way over to his tidy desk, he placed the steaming mugs down and dumped everything else on the floor.

Prentiss and Reid lifted their heads from their mountains of files; Emily grimaced in empathy for her colleague, while Reid decided to keep his head down.

"That good a weekend, I know Hotch insisted we all needed some R&R, but there are such things as limits," Emily couldn't help but smirk at his obvious agony.

Morgan raised his head slowly, as if even the slightest movement caused him a multitude of pain. He glared sideways at Prentiss, wishing she would go away, along with everyone else in the room. He'd had hangovers before, hell, who hadn't? But this was something else. He prided himself on not letting his personal life interfere with his work, but right now he could barely focus on the mug in his hand, let alone the files piled high beside him. He let out an involuntary groan, and then rested his head on his desk. _Get a grip_.

. . . . . . .

It had been a rollercoaster weekend.

The team had got back late Thursday from a horrific case. It was one of those cases that got under his skin, no matter what he did, it was there nagging at him. The team had caught the UNSUBs, a husband and wife team who had been kidnapping young boys. The sick details of what they had done to the innocent victims had etched itself on Derek's mind. Morgan had never been able to compartmentalise as well as Prentiss, and this one brought back memories he preferred to keep deeply buried.

Hotch appreciated the team had taken the case hard. Finding the broken bodies of the helpless children had left them all reeling. They were all human, sometimes people forgot that. He'd been given the green light to grant everyone a long weekend, when they left the building Thursday Hotch didn't want to see them until Monday morning. After all he had his own boy to go home to, one that was about to get an extra day off school, so they could spend it together.

Garcia was more than aware of her Adonis's past. She was the one he had turned to when everything that had happened in Chicago had been revealed, years ago. She also knew that under his 'Alpha male' exterior was the kindest and most sensitive man she had ever met. One look at him on that Thursday night, when they got back to the bullpen, was all she had needed to set her course of action; TLC, and he needed lots of it. So they'd collected Clooney and headed back to his.

Although they were both tired, they hadn't slept. They'd talked, for hours, until the sun rose to herald a new day. Morgan had been so glad of his Baby Girl's company. He was eternally grateful for the way she could fix him, like no-one else could. He was damaged goods, but not with her. She could usually wipe his mind, take it all away; make his life normal again, but not this time. They spent the day together, taking Clooney for a long walk, watching a movie, dozing in each others' arms on the couch. Yet this time none of it worked.

His mind was set; plan B. The option he had always relied on prior to Penelope entering his life, and for the odd occasion when even she couldn't work her magic. Go out and get blind drunk. Not like his usual party hard weekends, really on a mission to kill a few gray cells, hopefully the ones that held the imagines of abused and mutilated bodies.

So Friday night he had gone out. Not met with the rest of the team, he needed space. Plus he didn't want his 'Solace' to see him like this. Some things are best kept secret, even from your best friend. He hit some of his old haunts, places he hadn't needed to visit in a long time. Places where the drinks were cheap and the girls were after the same thing he was. He was out for no frills sex, hard and meaningless, with no complications; anything to clear his constantly spinning mind. If the alcohol failed to work then physical exhaustion might. This was about obliterating memories not creating them.

He hadn't failed to pull. It hadn't taken him any effort. He'd been sat at the bar studying the empty bottle of beer in front of him, considering whether to carry on with beer or move onto Jack when the raven haired beauty had sat next to him. Offering to buy her a drink, they chatted, superficial conversation, as neither was interested in what the other was saying. Both made it clear they had one thing on their mind. Drinks led to dancing, to kissing, to a cab back to hers. The details were blurred, though he didn't remember drinking that much; must have been more than he thought.

Night turned to day once more, as Morgan watched the sun rise through her window, he was glad for the numbing effect of lack of sleep. He hoped that when he finally crashed he would be so exhausted he would sleep, and not dream. It was the dreams that scared him most.

Turning in bed to face the stranger, there was something vaguely familiar about her. He brushed the thought aside as she climbed on top of him. He'd no plans for the day, so laid back and enjoyed it.

The two spent the weekend together; a mirage of bitter alcohol and sinful sex, barely stopping to consume anything other than liquor and each other. Morgan hadn't done anything so animalistic in a long time, as Sunday afternoon rolled round he needed to leave. Effortlessly he slid out of her bed.

As he left her apartment a moment of guilt crept over him, he turned. She was standing in her bedroom doorway.

"Where do you think you're going?" she cooed.

Morgan briefly wondered if that was the most she had said to him in the last twenty-four hours.

"Home."

She looked daggers at him. He shut the door as he left.

Back home he crashed, sleeping soundly until 7pm. He woke to the sound of his doorbell. It sounded frantic. Opening the door, bleary eyed, he came face to face with her. Without chance to invite her in, she was on him, knocking him back against the wall. If he'd wanted, he could have had her out within seconds, but why turn a good thing down? He let her devour him inch by inch. He was so lusted out that it didn't even cross his mind how she had found him.

**. . . . . . **

Of course, he knew now he should have shown her the door. He was suffering for a ridiculous weekend, he'd have been better of channelling his energy into one of his renovation projects. At least then he'd have come back to work feeling better than he did when he left the building on Thursday, not worse. Lifting his head, he downed both mugs of coffee and switched on his computer. Feeling sorry for himself was getting him nowhere. He'd made a crap decision, live with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Just to clear up any confusion it wasn't Pen he slept with over the weekend – the mysterious woman will become clearer as the story develops – Honest.**

. . . . . . .

Morgan watched the clock creep slowly towards lunchtime. He had made himself swear he would work solidly until mid-day. But he was flagging, serves him right for not eating breakfast. He'd woke late and rushed to get, what's her name, out and get himself to work. Beside he couldn't face anything other than coffee first thing this morning! But now the caffeine was wearing off, and he was suddenly aware that he has no idea the last time he had anything to eat. He looked through the draws of his desk; Penelope often hides little treats in each of the team's desks. She knows their favourite snacks, healthy or not, and like a magic snack fairy, keeps them going. Damn, he was all out of everything.

"Hey, kid, have you got any candy? I could really do with the sugar," Morgan looked over the divide at Reid, who annoyingly had more files in his out tray than his in tray already.

Spencer opened a draw and threw a bag of Haribo at Morgan, without even looking up from the file in his hand.

"Thanks," he muttered, opening the bag and stuffing a handful of colourful sweets in his mouth, _great; sugar and e-numbers, what more could he want_.

Prentiss looked up, dying to say something, but decided anyone on that much of a sugar craving was best left alone.

. . . . . . .

By lunchtime Derek believed he was beginning to feel slightly more human; considering he could now speak and comprehend whole sentences and read a page from a file without feeling seasick. He decided the final remedy to his headache was the gentle mocking tones of his Angel. Making his way to Penelope's office, with coffee for both of them, he had a smile for the first time that day.

Tackling the door handle with his elbow, he was glad to see Penelope alone in her office. She was hunched over her keyboard, cursing quietly.

Putting the coffees down on the side silently, he crept up behind her. Her shiny red hair was piled high, leaving her silky skinned neck exposed. Gently he kissed her, near her ear. She literally took off vertically out of her seat. Spinning her chair round, her scolding face soon turned into a wide grin.

"Well, Hot Stuff, if that's the game you want to play, welcome to my lair."

Morgan gave her his familiar million dollar smile, this had been what he needed, if he had stuck with her then he wouldn't have been such a jerk all weekend? Everything he needed was right in front of him, day in and day out, if only he could let her know that. Penelope meant more to him than the world it's self. However, no matter what they could tell each other, they couldn't tell each other how they truly felt. Instead they vailed their feeling behind outrageous flirting.

"You know I was speaking to Clooney before I left the apartment this morning," Penelope had spun back round to face her computer screen, "He has decided he quiet likes my company and that maybe we should take things more seriously, his thinking of moving in."

She seemed to be tapping random keys, but Derek knew she was hard at work, he had never known a person who could multitask the way she could.

"He says, he can hardly remember his owner, been so long since they spent quality time together."

"Unfair, we all had a great walk on Friday."

Penelope nodded her agreement, spinning around to face him.

"Then you went AWOL. Where have you been cupcake? Not like you not to answer my calls."

Not answer her calls; Derek always answered her calls, no matter what. He even had a different ring tone for her, something he hadn't even done for his mother. Was he that trashed this weekend? Taking his phone out, he looked through the missed calls. Nothing.

"You sure you were ringing the right number?" he asked confused.

"Pretty sure, unless you know another Chocolate Adonis?"

Morgan shook his head smiling,

"Then you're the only one in my phone, Baby."

It didn't make sense, but he shrugged it off.

"If I come over there and nibble your neck some more, will you forgive me?"

"If you come over here and nibble my neck some more, I'll do anything you ask, and some."

Derek couldn't help but smile, he loved their banter. He loved everything about her, but the rigid professional in him stopped him for saying that he wanted more.

"Lunch?" he questioned. She nodded. They left together.

. . . . . . .

Sitting in the booth, Morgan felt on edge. It was nothing he could put his finger on, just something didn't seem right. He couldn't shake the feeling.

"You OK, Hun?" Garcia asked; taking another spoonful of the pie they were sharing.

"Mmm," he nodded, "I had a killer hangover this morning and I guess it's just clearing."

"Oh Baby Boy," she leant over to kiss him on the forehead, "If you'd said I could have taken your mind off it in no time."

That he did believe.

. . . . . . .

Back in the bullpen, he felt more like himself. As he returned to his desk he dropped a bag of sweets on Reid's desk. Looking up from the file in front of him, he looked confused.

"I owed you," Morgan said, sitting down and looking equally confused at the neatly wrapped package on his desk.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Prentiss asked.

"Not until one of you two tells me which one of you is playing games."

Reid shrugged and carried on working.

"Not me," Prentiss added, "it was there when I got back from lunch."

"Someone from reception bought it up just after you left," Reid explained, without looking up.

Opening the box he found a box of headache tablets, so Garcia had guessed how bad he was. She probably sussed him when he hadn't called in her office on the way in this morning. Bless her, but who did she send out to get them? Let alone go to the extreme of gift wrapping them. He smiled, putting them in his draw for the next time; that he had sworn would never happen.

. . . . . . .

Morgan got a lift home with Garcia, who swore she had nothing to do with his little gift earlier. So he decide Prentiss was to blame, he'd get her back for getting one over him.

They headed to hers for dinner and to collect Clooney. Morgan was shattered, he could count the hours of proper sleep he'd had over the weekend on one hand, and wanted nothing more than a steaming hot shower and a good night's sleep. Yet he couldn't turn down dinner with Garcia. When the two of them got cooking together it was nothing short of a miracle that what they produced was edible. Yet over and over again they created one off meals that neither of them could repeat, as neither of them knew what they had done.

. . . . . . .

After dinner she dropped him off at his house, he leant over and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, and you know it."

Getting Clooney out of Esther, the same strange feeling came over him. The feeling he'd had earlier at lunch. He looked round, feeling edgy, on guard. He decided lack of sleep was really screwing with his mind.

. . . . . . .


	3. Chapter 3

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Well done to onetreefan, BettyTheGreat, Kimd33 for all guessing our mystery girl has turned into a stalker.**

. . . . . . . . .

Derek didn't even get close to his desk the next day. As they entered the bullpen the team went straight into the conference room. They had all had an early morning call and each was arriving as quickly as they could.

"Am I to assume Clooney has packed? It was hardly worth taking him home, Hot Stuff," Garcia teased as he sat down next to her at the table.

"Well maybe you should just move in with me and the problem would be solved."

"Whoa, Cupcake, one step at a time," she giggled, "wine me, dine me, ravish me, make me yours."

"I thought you were mine?"

"Always, Hun."

Hotch cleared his throat, bringing the room to silence. JJ introduced the new case to the team, they all knew what was expected, wheels up in thirty minutes.

. . . . . . . . .

Garcia went to check on Clooney during one of her rare breaks. Cases like the one the team was currently away on meant she saw little outside her office.

Pulling onto Morgan's driveway Garcia decided she would take Clooney back to hers, rather than leave him at Morgan's. Her apartment was closer to work then his house. It made sense as she could get back to him more often. She enjoyed caring for Clooney; it was a way of keeping Morgan close to her when he was miles away.

Clooney nearly knocked her over as she entered.

"Hey Sweetie, it's only me," she ruffled his ears lovingly, "Want to come and stay with Auntie Pen. Come on, I've got all we need at mine."

Clooney bounded out towards Esther. Suddenly he stopped, a low growl echoed out of him.

"What's up, you? Come on, my car's not that bad, is it?"

Clooney wouldn't budge, he was usually so obedient, but he was staring at a car on the opposite side of the road. Penelope looked at the car. There was someone in it, a woman, searching through her purse by the look of things.

"Cloon, I haven't got time for this. I need to get back to work and help get your Daddy home as soon as possible." Penelope gave his collar a tug. "Here, now," she tugged again, desperately trying to move the hound. She gazed back up at the car as he started to bark.

"Whoa boy," she'd never seen him like this, "What's up? Is that one of the girls you have to put up with? Come on she can't be that bad and who can blame her for wanting another dose of Morgan, I wouldn't say no." Penelope started to feel silly standing talking to the dog as if it was her best friend. Watching his protective stance, she could suddenly understand people who said dogs resembled their owners. Clooney was as much an 'Alpha male' as Morgan, and both were usually complete softies when Pen got her hands on them.

The car he had been watching started and moved on. Clooney seemed satisfied that it had gone and got into Penelope's car.

"At last," Penelope sighed, getting in the front and driving off.

. . . . . . .

"Baby Girl, tell me you've got something for me," Morgan near groaned over the phone.

"Oh I've got plenty for you; you just need to push the right buttons to access it." Penelope was swinging on her chair, flicking her fluffy pen.

Rolling his eyes and chuckling, Morgan relished the way she could make him smile when he was surrounded with the worse of human nature.

"Well, Angel, let your magic fingers do their thing and make me a happy man."

Garcia moaned softly, "If only you'd let me."

"Garcia," his mock stern tone told her the flirting was over, "I'm putting you on speaker."

"Sure thing Sugar, let's see; Danny Large was put into foster care at the age of seven after his mother was deemed unfit to care for him. She was an alcoholic and junkie who made her money on the game. He ran away from several sets of foster homes over the next three years. Danny was finally traced living with his elder sister, who for the record followed her mother's career choice. Each time they removed him he went back to her. In the end they seemed to give up on him."

"I guess that explains his choice of victims," Prentiss interrupted, "If all the important women in his life when he was growing up were prostitutes then his sexual preference would have been set alongside his identity." There were nods round the table.

"Oh, sweetheart the worse is yet to come," Garcia continued, "I will add, before I continue, that I have already sent this through to you all, as I am giving you the PG version. So where were we? That's it, living with sister. Five years later, Danny, soon to turn sixteen, disappeared as his sister was found dead in her apartment. Danny was no-where to be found. However he was not a suspect in her murder. Interesting fact of the day," Garcia couldn't help but pause for effect, "the description of her murder matches that of our current victims."

"He's recreating his sister's murder?" Rossi questioned.

"Given his age at the time and the possibility that he was witness to the murder, he may well get sexual satisfaction from recreating that scenario," Morgan was thinking out loud.

"Something he can't get any other way," Rossi followed Morgan's train of thought.

. . . . . . .

Most of the team was sleeping on the flight home. Morgan looked at the time. He knew it was late back in Quantico, but he also knew Garcia would be waiting for them to get back. Taking his phone from his belt, he called his 'Solace'.

"Hey Sweet Chick," he whispered.

"Hey yourself, if you're ringing for cheap phone sex you're out of luck as I am on my way home to be covered with sloppy wet kisses and cuddles on the couch."

"Penelope that is my dog you are talking about and I am going to stop you two spending time together if you get much closer."

"We can't help it, we have something in common."

"And what may that be?" Morgan couldn't wait to hear her excuse.

"We both miss you lots when you're away," Garcia could tell he was smiling at her answer, even if he was still miles from home, "Why don't you come round when you get back, we'll be waiting for you."

"Sounds good, I could definitely do with the company tonight."

"Oh, talking of company, that reminds me, have you got a new girlfriend?"

"No, why?"

"It's just that Clooney was really freaked out by a car parked near yours when I picked him up the other day."

Morgan thought it was strange; Clooney was a calm and passive dog. Loyal, protective and loving, he didn't freak out.

"Don't know about that Babe, glad to know he's looking after you when I'm not there to do it though."

They continued to chat most of the flight home.

. . . . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Hunter hunted**

**Disclaimer ****–**** I own nothing but the ideas.**

. . . . . . . . . . .

The following morning, after he and Garcia had taken Clooney out for a long walk together, Derek returned home. He planned on getting his stuff together and heading out to his latest refit. A few hours hard labour was what he needed. Then when he truly ached, he would return home and take a long, well deserved shower. As he pulled into his driveway he had started planning dinner and his evening entertainment, nothing pretentious, just a quiet night at home.

Jumping out the driver's seat, he swung round the back of his SUV, opened the tailgate and released Clooney.

Clooney raced towards the front door, half way there he faltered. His stance was defensive and his growl determined.

Morgan stuck his head round the car door, where he was unloading his 'go bag' and other stuff.

"What's the matter?" His dog's distress put him on edge. Clooney didn't react like this; he quickly remembered what Garcia had told him about earlier in the week.

Leaving his bags in the car, he whistled Clooney to him as he drew his weapon. Approaching the front door together, Derek was armed and ready. He's senses on high alert. Clooney was right, something was wrong. His front door was ajar. Derek silently pushed the door open with his foot. As he did Clooney shot past him barking frantically. Derek cursed; he should have got Clooney back in the car. Even though he wasn't going to surprise anyone, he still proceeded cautiously.

Nothing could prepare him for the sight that met his eyes as he entered the lounge. His normally immaculate house was a monumentous mess. Draws emptied, contents strewn across the floor, furniture knocked over. His whole life turned upside down. He tracked through the house from room to room, in each he was met with the same scene. Chaos. Returning to the lounge he leant back against the wall. Sliding down to the floor, with his head in his hands, he paused. He knew what he should do next.

He reached for his phone from his belt. Automatically he called Garcia. He knew he should call the police, but he also knew what they could and couldn't do in this situation. He'd deal with it his way, with a little help from his best friend.

. . . . . . . . . .

Derek didn't normally like fuss. He was stereotypically minimal in every aspect of his life. Yet somehow he found Penelope's flapping soothing_. How could something so manic be calming?_ Right now Penelope was in full fuss flight. Shooting from room to room, giving gasps of horror at what she saw. Derek stood in the lounge area of his open plan ground floor, listening to her scuttle around the house. He could tell she was making her way back to him. He leant back against the wall, waiting for her.

"Oh my Baby Boy, it's horrid," she was straight over to him, hugging him tightly. "What did the police say?"

Derek was not going to let go of her easily, he enjoyed the sensation of her arms around him. He shrugged and rested his chin gently on the top of her head, staring at the mess that was once his home.

"I didn't bother calling them," he mumbled into her sweet smelling hair.

Her head shot up, jolting him as she did.

"What do you mean, you didn't call them?" she asked sternly.

"There's no point. Nothing has been taken. It was kids got lucky and trashed my place."

Penelope frowned. "Or someone has just trawled through your life. Derek just look around you," the disbelief in his actions, obvious in her voice. "There's bank details, family and friend's numbers, you name it."

Derek could see her point. To be honest he had not wanted to think about it. He just wanted to tidy up and get back to enjoying his weekend. He didn't bring work home with him, he didn't expect it to come and find there. He felt Pen's hand on his waist, looking down she held his phone in her hand.

"Call them, while I go and get my laptop and make sure that your life is protected," she smiled, knowing he'd do as he was told. "Give me a few minutes and any accounts will be locked down and then we can sort the rest."

Derek watched as she walked away. That girl really was something else. He flipped open his phone and made the call.

. . . . . . . . .

Once the police had left, Derek flopped down on the couch next to Penelope. She was still busy on her laptop. He loved to watch her work, it fascinated him, little things; like the way she wrinkled her nose when something didn't go quiet right, the grin when she fixed it.

"Tell me to mind my own business but there are a few things I think you should look at," Penelope said, while she continued to type.

Derek moved closer, looking over her shoulder and a screen that had been split up multiple times, bits he recognised the rest could be Russian for all he knew.

"What am I looking at?"

"You."

"I didn't look like that last time I looked in a mirror."

"Silly," Pen nudged him in the ribs. "It's you cyber trail. Bank accounts, email, search history, you name it, I've got it. I have not been reading or digging or anything else, I've got it all here because I want you to check if anything is wrong. I think this break in my have been a few days ago, there is movement while I know you were away with the team. Nothing may have been physically stolen, but identity fraud is big business."

Derek took her laptop and started wading through the mass of information she had found. She was right. He had money missing from his accounts, emails sent to people he'd never heard of and emails he would never have sent to people he did know. Someone was messing with his life. There were postings about him on sites and things he'd supposedly posted. He looked at Penelope.

"How do we sort this?"

The hurt look on his face melted her heart.

"Leave it to me," she smiled reassuringly.

. . . . . . . .

Derek had busied himself tiding up as Penelope did her thing. By the time he finished, he was truly pissed off. When he had come home he hadn't felt anything, but the shock had worn off and now anger bubbled below the surface. He was determined to find out who was messing with him and when he did . . .

Penelope wandered upstairs to find him. Standing in his bedroom doorway she watch him as he sat on the bed looking at the photos he'd picked up. She knocked once on the door.

"May I?"

"Sure," he patted the bed next to him.

Sitting next to him she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I've done the best I can," she paused, "this guy's good Babe; I've started trying to track him, but I haven't got anything yet. I won't give up."

Derek lifted her chin and looked into her beautiful eyes, now dulled with sadness. Upsetting his Angel made his anger flare up again.

"I know you won't, but you have done more than I could ever ask you to do already."

"I'd do anything for you," she smiled softly.

Derek rested his forehead on hers. As he did the pile of photos fell to the floor, both reached down to retrieve them.

"Oooh, baby. Baby Boy," Penelope cooed.

"Give that back," Derek reached over to grab it.

Penelope laughed, hiding the photo behind her back. "This I have got to see. Besides I think you owe me."

He couldn't deny that. Ok he nodded. Gathering up all the pictures he settled back on his bed, leaning against the plump pillows. Pen made herself comfortable next to him. He wrapped an arm round her as he picked his way through the pile of pictures; sharing rare moments of his life with her, childhood stories, precious moments. The jigsaw pieces, that made the puzzle; that was Derek Morgan. Penelope felt privileged and honoured at the opportunity for the unexpected insight into her best friend.

Derek found comfort in her company. It didn't take much to convince Penelope to stay the night. They had dinner, watched a movie and chatted. Nothing special, but just what Derek needed to take his mind off things, even for a short while.

. .

**Thank you for the support with this story, it is always great to get feedback and find out what people like or what doesn't work. More soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**. . . . . . . . . .**

Morgan had barely put his mug on the surface when his desk phone rang. He was planning on heading up to speak to Hotch anyway, but the call made it his number one priority. Hotch's gruff tone over the phone let Derek know he had some explaining to do.

Taking a deep breath he knocked once and entered. Hotch barely looked up from the file he was reading. A single nod of his head indicated that Morgan should sit. He did. Hotch continued to read. Morgan waited patiently.

"I am assumingly you have something to tell me," Hotch still hadn't fully looked up.

Morgan nodded instinctively. Realising it was a futile gesture, he spoke.

"My house was broken into last week, while we were away."

"Anything taken?" Hotch finally raised his head. A brief look of concern flitted across his eyes.

"Nothing physically, but someone is screwing with my life. I assumed it was identity fraud, but whoever it is, it's personal. I guess someone I put away wanting revenge."

Since Derek and Penelope had started to look into the possibility of identity fraud being the purpose of the break in, they had discovered that the person responsible seemed hell set on bringing down Derek Morgan. Pen had spent her weekend trying to trace the perpetrator, as well as trying to undo everything that had been done. Derek felt so guilty watching his best friend slave away while he sat there useless. He had faced serial killers. He was not afraid of a fight, but this attack was personal and out of his hands. He dealt with people face on, not hidden behind computer screens and techno babble.

"Any idea who is doing this?" Hotch flat tone was calm, in comparison to the frustration that once again was rising in Derek.

"Do you think I'd be sat here if I did?"

Hotch shock his head. He knew it was a stupid question, but one he had to ask.

"Things are quiet at the moment. Spend some time with Garcia, from what I have seen of from the police report she's the best person to help you with this."

Morgan didn't need Hotch to tell him that. He'd seen her work solidly all weekend, battling online with an invisible UNSUB.

By the time Morgan got out of Hotch's office Reid and Prentiss were in. Reid had his head down, but Prentiss was perched squarely on his desk. Arms folded. He knew she wasn't going to budge without a full explanation from him. He appreicated the support of his team, but hated the idea of them intruding onto his personal life.

. . . . . . . . . .

Settled in Garcia's cramped office Morgan felt safe. He hated the fact that he was completely reliant on her, but he also had enough sense to know there was no-one better. No-one more determined. No-one he'd rather spend the time with. No-one else he trusted with the intimate details of his life.

Garcia worked rapidly and silently as Morgan watched. She flicked from screen to screen without blinking. Her focus was admirable. Watching her work like this Morgan now understood why it was so important to her that everything was in the right place. She moved around her domain without taking her eyes of the screens. If everything was where it should be, she didn't need to break her concentration. While Garcia continued to do her thing, Morgan trawled through records; he was looking through past cases, seeing if he could find any possible suspects. Nothing.

. . . . . . . . . .

"How about I come home with you?" Garcia suggested as they made their way out of the building.

"Angel, I'm a big boy, I can protect myself. Beside you need rest."

Garcia was smiling at him, that teasing glint in her eye.

"Why, Honey, when are you going to stop telling me what a big boy you are and let me find out for myself?" she giggled, making her way towards Esther.

Derek paused, watching her wiggle as she walked. She was the best, in more ways than one. He quickly caught up with her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he pulled her into a hug. Letting go slightly he looked down at her.

"Please tell me what I did to deserve that," she smiled mischievously, "so I can do it again!"

"Just being you," his kissed her gently on her forehead. "You know I love you, don't you."

"I love you too," as Penelope said it, she looked into his deep dark eyes. If only he knew how much. "So am I coming back with you, or do I have to hit you over the head and drag you off?"

"Babe, go home, relax, and sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He kissed her again and released her. Holding her door open as she got in, he closed her door and leaned onto it. "Thank you."

Derek watched Garcia leave, before he got into his SUV. He'd wanted to be with Garcia, but he'd taken up enough of her time already. It wasn't fair. Plus the longer he spent with her, the closer he got to doing something they may both regret. He didn't want to risk losing her by drawing her any closer. Crossing that line was one risk he wasn't willing to take.

. . . . . . . . . .

Penelope wished he'd let her go home with him. She wasn't silly enough to think she could protect him, not physically, but she could be there for him. She could tell whoever was doing this was really getting to him. It's not surprising, someone, somewhere, really had it in for him. They were making his life hell; playing games with his mind, and the minds of his friends and family. Already today she had set up new bank accounts for him, having sent his money round the world a couple of times, trying to stop it from being tracked. Then just to be sure she had encrypted her actions. She had diverted a false resignation email to Strauss and a supposed 'internal' request for a letter from the FBI to his Mum, offering her condolences as he had been shot and killed, amongst other petty online actions on various social networking sites. She had decided not to tell him about the letter to his mum, but she made sure he called her and let her know what was happening, just in case she didn't intercept the next one. It had nearly broken her heart watching him today, seeing this chip away at him.

She knew he had told her to rest, but she had already decided she'd order take out so she could carry on tracking this guy down. It was the least she could do for her friend. She knew he wouldn't rest if she had a stalker.

Penelope snapped out of her thoughts as the car behind started flashing its lights. She looked at her speedo, dead on. _What was this guy__'__s problem?_ The car was getting closer, flashing still. Pen tried to stay calm as it pulled out to overtake.

As it drew alongside her she was shocked by the initial impact. Turning her head she got a glimpse of the driver; a women. Trying frantically to control Esther, and avoiding another jarring collision with the dark vehicle, she realised that the driver was trying to run her off the road. She recognised the car but couldn't think where from.

As she focused on the bend ahead she realised the car had moved across, increasing the gap, before trying to hit her again. Then it dawned on her, it was the car from outside Morgan's last week. The driver timed it just right. After the hit Garcia couldn't make the turn. Breaking hard as fear engulfed her, she was trying to slow as much as possible, she braced herself as Esther left the road, not stopping until she hit the trees.

Time seemed to slow. Silence filled the air then finally Garcia could hear the roar of an engine, as whoever it was left her. Then nothing, again. She let the darkness take control of her body, it was better than the agonising pain she felt.

. . . . . . . . .

When Derek finally got home he still had the feeling he was being watched, he just copuldn't shake it, know he knew someone was out there. He had called off at the store to get some supplies. He took his time getting out of his car, using the time to take in his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place. Maybe he was getting paranoid with all that was going on.

Soon as the motion light flicked on, he noticed the parcel on his doorstep. He wasn't expecting a delivery. As he got closer to it, he realised it was hand delivered. His instincts kicked in; stepping back he made a call. Even with bomb experience, he wasn't opening this one.

. . . . . . .

Hotch turned up as the Bomb Disposal team were packing up.

"False alarm," was all Morgan could manage to say. He'd over-reacted, lost his cool. This creep was getting to him; breaking him down, and not through a fair fight. How can you fight someone you can't see?

"It was the right thing to do," Hotch tried to reassure him. He knew his pride was damaged, and probably more. "I assume you and Garcia didn't get anywhere today?"

Morgan shook his head, as the opened package was passed to him by one of the team. Inside was a DVD and a ticket for a flight to Chicago, the flight left later that night.

"What the fuck man, is the Son of a Bitch trying to tell me he's going after my family?"

"I'm calling the team in," Hotch had his phone out as he made the statement, "this has gone far enough."

. . . . . . . . . .

In the conference room everyone looked at Hotch. He was stalling. Everyone was in, except Garcia. No-one wanted to say it, but she was never late. Everyone had tried calling her, but no answer, home or mobile.

While they had waited Prentiss, Morgan and Reid had flicked through the DVD. It basically followed Morgan's whole weekend. Getting to Pen's Friday night, walking Clooney with her, getting home, her coming round to help, the police arriving; the whole sorry story. The team were edgy, no-one more so then Morgan. Where was she?

JJ entered the room. She indicated, with a nod of her head, to Hotch, that she wanted a quiet word. He left with her.

Returning within minutes, the look on his face was grave. They knew it meant bad news. Hotch looked directly at Morgan.

"Garcia's been in an accident. She was found about an hour ago, but they have only just identified her. Her car is badly damaged; they have only just got her out."

Derek was out of his seat and heading for the door.

"Morgan," Hotch called, "We need to think this through. Garcia is currently in transit and will go straight into theatre. JJ is finding out as much as we can. I know you want to be with her, but what about the ticket for Chicago?"

Morgan stopped, door open. He rested his head on the frame. He couldn't choose between Penelope and his family.

. . . . . . .

**Thank you to everyone for their support. I not sure if I've moved to fast this one, I haven't done a huge number of longer fics, but have just started a full case fic and that is a lot slower pace then this. Guess that's the nice thing about doing this you learn something new with each piece you write, mainly thanks to the great feedback from you guys reading it.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

. . .

Morgan froze. His life was in turmoil and he didn't know what to do to stop it spinning. Garcia was in hospital and it was his fault, yet in just over an hour a flight left for Chicago; that potentially had his stalker on it, going after his family.

Turning slowly to look at the team, he realised they were waiting to help him. He just needed to let them. He'd never liked sharing his life with others. He'd grown up dealing with his problems by himself. But he couldn't do that now. He couldn't be in two places at once. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply, making the choice he knew his family would understand.

"Hotch," he looked desperately at his stoic boss, "I need to be with her. I can't leave her to do this alone. It's my fault she is there."

"What do you want us to do?"

"Catch the bastard."

"We can't do it without your help, and you know that Morgan," Hotch paused knowing Morgan would not like what he had to say next, "or without profiling your actions. You're the victim here, like it or not. We can't build a profile without an accurate victimology."

Morgan looked at the ground. God he hated this shit. Looking up, he nodded.

"Garcia has it all on her computer. Everything," Morgan sighed, "Can you bring my family in? I need to know they're safe. I'll call home and explain."

Hotch nodded. "Prentiss and Rossi, I want you two to take the jet, while you're flying get started on the profile with the information we've already got, anything new will be sent straight to you. I'll see if I can get a seat on the commercial flight, it is possible the stalker will be on the flight. They are going to want to see how you're reacting."

"But I'm not going," Morgan queried.

"I know. It will be interesting to see if anyone is looking out for you. It would make it easy for us," Hotch paused. "Reid, I want you to stay here with Morgan, start on victimology and a profile. JJ, can you get Kevin in and work with him on what Garcia has already got? I'm sure even he has got enough compassion to help at a time like this. I need you to co-ordinate the flow of information. I don't like splitting the team up like this, but it's necessary. Garcia was amazing at making sure we all got everything, that's what I need you to do for us."

JJ wrinkled her nose at the mention of her friend's ex, but after Pen, even she had to admit Kevin was the best.

. . .

Morgan stood outside her room; watching silently. He never thought he would be here again. It had ripped him apart when Battle had shot her, but seeing her back in a hospital bed, attached to various pieces of equipment; he was struggling. He had to be strong for her. He had to be there for her. If only he'd let her come home with him, she wouldn't be here now. It was his entire fault.

The doctor came out. "Are you family?"

"As good as," Morgan's tone told the doctor not to question it.

"She is stable. At the moment she is still heavily sedated. It's for the best. Tomorrow we'll see how she reacts."

Morgan entered the room and sat down beside Garcia. She looked so fragile.

He prayed.

. . .

Hotch found a prime spot and sat and waited. He bought a print out of the information they had and sat reading it. Looking every bit the bored businessman, he watched people as they came to join the wait.

His phone rung, it was Reid. He had interviewed Morgan before he was allowed to go to the hospital, to see Garcia.

"Anything?"

"It's rudimentary, but I think you are looking for a woman. Surprisingly 49% of stalkers are women. Given Morgan's lifestyle I feel it may be a previous intimate partner of his."

Hotch smiled at his colleague's discretion. "Ok, work on it while I'm gone. I'm meeting Prentiss and Rossi at the airport and flying back with them. I asked Chicago to stake out Mrs. Morgan's house; both his sisters are there with his mother waiting to be collected. We'll get the team together and present Morgan with the profile, it may jog a memory," Hotch had moved away from the crowd so hiws conversation wasn't overheard. "Any news on Garcia?"

"Morgan's with her now. She's sedated after the operation, we'll know more in the morning," Reid paused. "It wasn't an accident. There is evidence of her car being hit twice from the side; also Morgan has received a text. It's a picture of Garcia in her car, at the crash site, with the message 'RIP Penelope Garcia. I'm here for you now.' We've tried tracing the phone but it wasn't on a contract and there is no signal from it now."

"Ok," Hotch shut his phone and returned to his seat.

The flight was the last of the night. It wasn't even half full, by his estimate most of the passengers were here now. He watched. Less than fifty percent of the passengers were women. One of them had potentially run Garcia off the road and calmly got out to take a photo. Someone that calm was unlikely to standout now. Inwardly he cursed.

. . .

Derek didn't sleep. His eyes didn't leave her. He watched, waited and prayed. The whole time his mind was working, going over what Reid had said to him. He was trying to piece together the puzzle. It had to be someone he knew. Reid seemed convinced it was a woman he'd slept with. That narrowed it down then.

Looking at Penelope he realised what a jerk he'd been. None of them had come close to comparing to Penelope. It was just his way of avoiding committing to the one woman he loved. No matter what people believed, he had thought about their feelings, he'd even tried to stay with some of them, build a relationship, but failed, because they weren't Garcia.

Closing his eyes he tried to make a mental list of the girls he'd slept with recently. It was a short list. He hadn't been out looking for pick-ups for a while, other than the other weekend. It was then that he realised how much time he'd been spending with Penelope.

He smiled, amazed at how they had slowly increased what they did together. It was then that he realised most weekends Garcia walked Clooney with him, after which they would go for brunch. How often she would turn up at his latest project and help out, even if it was only making coffee and making sure he had something to eat. Then there was dinner or a take-out or one of their infamous home cooked creations. He realised for a profiler he could be pretty stupid. He would profile criminals week in week out, yet he couldn't apply the same skills to his own life; even if the conclusion was blaringly obvious.

"I love you Penelope Garcia," he swore they would be the first words she heard when she woke.

. . .

As the flight started to board Hotch held back as much as he could, without looking suspicious. He watched as a few others milled around at the back of the queue. He was watching one woman in particular. She was looking away from the line, as if she was waiting for someone to turn up. Morgan, maybe?

His turn came. He had to go through or blow his cover. Walking on board he looked round in time to see the young woman hug a man who had just arrived. Not her then.

He settled down in his seat. Watching the seat that Morgan should have occupied. Behide his empty seat was a young dark haired woman that caught Hotch's eye. She had a magazine open, but was fidgety; nervous flyer maybe? _Surely the stalker wasn__'__t confident enough to have booked a seat that close to Morgan?_

As the finial preparations started, Hotch watched as the woman got up and made her way forward to the stewardess. Hotch watched. She was leaving the plane. Hotch got up to follow. A steward blocked his way.

"Please sit down sir."

"FBI," Hotch growled, showing his badge, "I need to get off this flight now, I'm following a suspect."

"Sorry sir, that isn't possible."

"One of your colleagues has just let her off," he pointed at the stewardess by the door.

The steward looked over and reluctantly stepped aside, letting Hotch through. He raced back to the boarding desk. She had disappeared.

. . .

**Hope you liked the latest installement. Please let me know.**

**Also I have a poll on my profile for a one shot story. The prompt is Aerosmith's 'Love in an Elevator', but which pairing would you like me to write? Please join the vote.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I owe nothing but the ideas.**

**Just a little note; all of the facts used by Spencer in the last and this chapter are from American criminal statistics produced in 2010. I like to keep some realism in my little fantasy world. **

**Talking of fantasy worlds - we are nearing the end of this little adventure - 1 more chapter and possible an epilogue (depends if it decides to co-operate).  
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**. . . .**

"Female stalkers are predominately single, heterosexual, educated individuals, in their mid thirties. They usually pursue their victims for an average of 1.8 years," Reid was in full statistical flight, "Their victims are likely to be slightly older. Interestingly if their victim has been a sexual partner then the risk of them being violent exceeds fifty percent. Basically, if they threaten violence, they are likely to carry out the threat."

"Ok, I get the picture," Morgan was restless, he wanted to be back at the hospital, "I fit the victimology perfectly, and any woman I've slept with in the last two years is a potential suspect, as they fit the profile you have just given. When are we getting to the bit where we work out which one it is?"

"Morgan," Hotch interceded, "you know how this works. I know you are uncomfortable, but please don't take it out on your friends. We are all trying to help."

"370,990 men are stalked annually in the US, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Reid tried, unsuccessfully, to reach out to his friend, "Average motivations include; anger, obsessive thoughts, loneliness, dependency on others, jealousy and perceived betrayal."

"Jealousy could explain the attack on Garcia," Prentiss added helpfully.

Morgan shot her a glare. She decided it was best ignored.

"Statistically 64% of male victims know their stalker, and 30% of male victims are stalked by an intimate partner. If the stalker is a previous sexual partner then they are more likely to escalate quickly, as we have seen. Two thirds of all stalkers pursue their victims' at least once a week, many daily and usually using more than one method. Usual methods include; assault, violating protective orders, sexual assault, vandalising, burglary, threats, killing pets, sending cards and gifts, telephone and email messages, disseminating personal information about the victim, following victims, visiting the place of work of the victim, waiting outside victim's houses, sending photos they have taken, watching and interfering with a victim's internet history, the list goes on."

As Reid had listed off the actions, Morgan had sat there mentally ticking off those that applied to him. Yet he still didn't know what to say, how to help.

"Morgan," Rossi leaned forward on the table, towards his colleague, "I know this is difficult but you need to think. Forget about Garcia," Rossi knew from the look on Derek's face his words had cut hard, "If you really want to help her then concentrate and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

That was it Morgan snapped.

"Feeling sorry for myself, you son of a bitch," Morgan stood, knocking his chair over in the process, "my best friend is lying in a hospital bed, my house has been turned over, my family uprooted and my life stolen. Do you not think I want an end to this? Do you think I am enjoying all the attention? Because you couldn't be more wrong."

"Then help us help you," the two agents were now standing face to face, neither about to budge, "channel that anger."

Morgan picked the chair up and slouched back down into it, his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. Dragging his hands down his face and finally looking up, he sighed. "There was this girl, a couple of weekends ago, after the Atlantic City case. There was something familiar about her at the time, I just assumed I'd seen her around; but it's possible I'd met her before, different hair colour, I can't be sure. She fits the description of the person you saw at the airport Hotch. Also, now I think about, it she fits the description of someone Garcia saw opposite my house while we were in Burbank," Morgan sighed again, "She knows where I live, as she turned up there on the Sunday night, uninvited."

"Name?" Rossi pushed.

"Alyssa, I think, maybe Melissa. I'm really not sure," Morgan looked at the ground; he'd never been so ashamed of his behaviour before. Rossi wanted to sympathise, but decided not to let up.

"Address? Where did you met? Anything that could be vaguely useful?" Rossi pushed.

"Give me a break; you're hardly a shining example of innocence. I'm not sure of her address; I wasn't at my best that weekend. To be honest when I left, I got in a cab and slept my way home. I didn't think I'd need to find the place again."

"Well, I've got the boarding information from the airport, with the CCTV footage I'm going through with Kevin, we may get somewhere." Hotch was tired and it was showing.

"Prentiss, you follow up the flight records," Hotch passed the file over, "Reid, you do a geographical profile with Morgan's help, see if we can start to narrow down an address, area, anything that may help."

"I was hoping to go back to the hospital. My mum's sitting with Penelope at the moment, but I want to be there when she wakes."

"Don't think you're the only person who wants to be with Penelope right now!" Hotch's patients were wearing thin.

. . . .

Wearily Morgan trudged into the hospital. He made his way towards Garcia's room. Watching through the window, he saw his Mom by her side. She was holding Penelope's hand, talking softly. He had no idea what she was saying, but he could guess it was about him, and the job and how she worries. Probably a bit about how glad she was that he had a friend like Penelope. He Mom was always telling him he should appreciate Pen more.

Quietly he made his way in, putting a hand lightly on his Mom's shoulder.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Hey, back. You look shattered!" she stood, running a hand down his cheek, "here, sit down."

"Nah, Mom, you take it. Any news?"

Sitting and taking Penelope's hand again, Fran shook her head, wishing he could give her son some good news. Sitting watching him, perched on the side of Penelope's bed, she could see clearly the love he had for her.

"She will be OK," Fran added.

He just nodded.

"You know how determined Penelope is. She has to be to put up with you."

"What does that mean Mom?" he wasn't in the mood for cryptic messages.

"Well a lot of women would have given up waiting for you to see sense a long time ago. Even I have told her to find herself a nice man to settle down with, seeing that you are pretty determined not to."

"Mom, it's not like that, we're friends."

"Really?" she raised one eyebrow, a Morgan trait. "Your Dad and I were friends long before we decided to become lovers."

"Mom, please," facing away from her, he couldn't help but smile.

"Derek Morgan, you do not need to be living in the same state as me for me to know your reputation! Don't forget you have two loving sisters who are prone to gossip. Don't you think it is time you changed your ways? After all I am still waiting for my grandbabies."

Derek couldn't answer her; he knew she could read him like a book. It would be fair to say that the events of the last few weeks had made him reassess his lifestyle choices. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that Penelope had changed him over the years. Slowly, bit by bit, not deliberately, but by being her friend he had become a better person. Yet he still hid from taking the next step. He talked all night to Penelope about anything, except them. Nearly losing her a second time was enough of a jolt to make him realise that he couldn't hide anymore.

Looking up at his mom, a single tear rolling down his cheek, "I love her, Mom, I truly love her, but I don't know how to tell her."

Standing and taking her son in her arms, Fran hugged him, like she had as a child, when he'd fallen and hurt his knee. The sort of hug that only a Mom can give; the hug that makes everything alright.

"What if she doesn't feel the same way? I can't lose her."

"What if you never her tell her? You'll lose her to someone else. Don't you think she's waited long enough?" Smiling down at her son, Fran continued. "Besides she loves you. Trust me, I know. So no excuses, tell her."

Derek looked down at Penelope, he had promised himself he would tell her he loved her, but sitting here with his Mom he knew he wasn't going to get the chance to back out again.

Now she just had to wake and give him the chance.

. . .

**I have a poll running on my profile -please vote for which pairing you would like to go with the prompt 'Love in an Elevator' by Aerosmith.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I'm away next week so what to try and finish up all my current stories before I leave. This is it for this one, except the epilogue, which I am still working on. Thank you for all the support for this story, it has really blown me away. More very very soon**

. . . . . .

Morgan sat watching each breath she was taking. Penelope had briefly regained consciousness, but was now sleeping. As her chest rose and fell with each breath, so did his hopes. He had hoped that this would all be over; he had hopes for his and Penelope's future. Each breath represented so much, as he waited patiently.

As he dozed at her bedside, he became aware that he was being watched. The sudden realisation of that familiar feeling that had haunted him for weeks now, hit him again. He fought the urge to look, to spin round and confront his tormentor. He knew he had to play this right, if not, he risked losing everything.

Without looking, he knew it was her. Rossi had collected his mother over an hour ago, updated him on how the team was doing, listened to how Garcia was doing, and tried to wind him up again. As a profile Morgan knew what Rossi was doing, but it wasn't anger that motivated him right now, it was love.

_Think, god damnit, think_. Surviving on bad coffee and snippets of sleep, Derek's brain was in slow motion. He kept his head down, slowly reaching for his phone, flicking it on, he texted the first team number he came to: 'she's here'. Now he just had to keep her here.

Acting as if he was just waking, he stood and stretched. Turning to the window, he saw her for the first time. The look on her face spoke a thousand words – pure hate. They stood staring at each other for what seemed like forever, neither daring to move.

Slowly she came into the room, closing the door quietly behind her; not taking her eyes off him the whole time. Derek recognised her from the club, God, how he regretted that weekend now.

"Do you actually remember me, or am I just another of your endless conquests?" she spat at him.

"Whoa," Derek paused, he had to get her name right, taking a steadying breath, he shut his eyes, and "Alyssa, how could I forget you?" he lied. Slowly he took a step towards her.

She took one back towards the door, a suspicious look on her face. Right now she didn't know what she was going to do. She knew what she intended but she was on auto-piolet, letting her emotions run the show.

"Do you really think I'm going to fall for your bull, again?" she spat at him, "I fell for it twice. I really thought this time it would be different, after all you stayed all night this time."

Derek's eyes fell to the ground; she made him sound such a bastard. He continued to move slowly, putting himself between Alyssa and Penelope. She could do what she liked to him, he deserved it, but Penelope was innocent, all she had ever done was be the best friend he had ever had.

"I know it sounds patronising, but I'm sorry," he paused, looking directly into her eyes, cold yet dark, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I didn't realise how you felt. I would never have . . ." his voiced tailed off.

"You'd never have what? Spoken to me? Spent time with me? Fucked me? What because I'm not worthy of your attention. That fat bitch has you wrapped round her finger, yet I have to beg for a moment of your time. I have to spike your drinks, follow you, literally fight off the competition; do everything I can. Yet still ninety-nine percent of the time you have ignored me," Alyssa sobbed, "For over two years I have tried to get your attention. At first it was just turning up in the clubs you went to, dancing near you, competing with the others for your attention, to be the one you took home. But the last few months you haven't taken anyone home. I know, I was watching, every day, every night. All because of her," she pointed accusingly at Penelope.

Derek prayed Penelope stayed asleep, where were the others? _Come on._

"I never realised. I've been stupid. Of course I've noticed you but I didn't think a girl like you would be truly interested in someone like me."

"What? You are full of crap, Derek Morgan," fury obvious in her face, "Stop trying to charm you way out of this. I know what you do; I've seen the way you are with women. You make me sick. But I assure you that, after today, you will never, ever forget me again!" Slowly her hand rose revealing the gun she was carrying, that was pointing directly at him.

Slowly he shook his head, "Alyssa, you don't have to do this . . ."

"Yes, I do."

Shaking, her finger moved to the trigger, Derek waited, waited for the inevitable.

Rossi swung the door open, knocking Alyssa sideways, into the wall. She dropped the gun. Derek looked up at Dave, realising his first hope was complete. This was finally over.

. . . . . .

Rossi and Hotch watched Alyssa through the glass of the interview room. They watched her body language, her facial expressions. Hotch had started the interview, but got nowhere. She was busy hiding behind throw away comments and attitude. He looked back down at the file Rossi had brought in. It held details on Alyssa that Kevin had managed to source out for them. It explained a lot, but not the one question that was burning them; _why Derek Morgan?_

"You want this one?" Hotch asked.

"My pleasure," Rossi replied, making his way through.

He opened the door and sat at the table.

"I do believe I failed to introduce myself properly, when we met at the hospital," he looked for any sign of a response, "I am Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi; I'm a colleague of Derek's."

"I know who you are," she said coldly, "Are you hoping for your turn now?"

Rossi raised an eyebrow, maybe he'd misjudged her. Slowly he opened the file he'd bought in with him. Looking like he was reading intently, but he'd read it fully before he entered the room, twice. This was his key to her and why she had done this. He had his suspicions, but wanted her answers, not his assumptions.

"You met Derek for the first time in 2008. Is that correct?"

"Is that what is says in the file?"

"No, it's what Derek told me, he remembers it well."

Alyssa looked at Rossi, trying to work out if he was lying. He was hard to read. She watched him watching her, trying to figure out what was going on. This one was so different to the last, he'd been stern, treating her like a naughty school girl. But this guy he was softer, kinder, maybe he could help.

"He . . . remembers . . . me?" Alyssa finally stuttered.

"Very well! You see the problem with my colleague is he has . . . commitment issues. The more he likes someone the further and the quicker he runs. Like he did that night, he ran, didn't he?"

"He was the first," she sighed, pausing, strangely trusting the man in front of her, "not my first, but the first that I had chosen, rather than my father had chosen for me. He should have taken me away from it all, kept me safe, not let my father drag me back again. If he had stayed then he could have protected me – he's strong enough."

"Your free now, to make your own choices," Rossi started to put together the pieces in the file, the dates started to make sense.

"He's dead," Alyssa said flatly, "just over six months. The money he left me bought me my apartment. At least something has come from what I earned for him. I don't need a man anymore, I can do it myself, make my own money and run my own life. I don't need Derek Morgan, I don't need any of you."

The venom in her voice surprised Rossi. Morgan had been in the wrong place at the wrong time just over two years ago and was now paying the price. Leaving the interview room he made a mental note to thank God that he had never been caught out like this.

Walking back in on Hotch, his look spoke a thousand words.

The records only seemed to show half the story, her father had been good at covering up the rest. Alyssa's mother had died when she was five, leaving her in the _care_ of her father. She could have barely been in her teens when her father first sold her to a family friend, her records show various injuries over the years, but each was explained away by some accident or another. Escaping that life once to a night of freedom with Derek Morgan had been her only ray of hope for the last two years. Her father's death had finally sent her life into freefall; she didn't know how to run her own life. Instead she tried to work her way into Derek's.

. . . . . .

Derek would not move. He was not going anywhere. Not until he had said what he wanted to say. JJ had offered to sit with her; Prentiss had offered him a lift home. But he was here and here he was staying.

Watching her, willing her to wake longer then the minute or two she had managed so far. His mind was made up, today the games stopped. He was hers, if she wanted him.

One hour blurred into another, his head spun. He didn't know when he last eat, drunk, lived. Each breath he took was dependent on each she took. He watch as Penelope lapsed in and out of consciousness. He steadied her when the nightmares came, he comforted through the confusion that moments of consciousness bought.

Eventually he was rewarded. He slowly became aware of the feel of someone stroking his cheek as he slept. He looked up into her sleepy eyes.

"I would love to tell you how glad I am to see you, but baby, you look as rough as I feel."

Derek sat up, trying to stretch out his aching body; "Penelope Garcia, I love you," he said, taking her hand in his.

"I love you too Hun, but you need sleep, not scrunched up in a chair, but proper sleep."

He shook his head, typical Garcia, putting everyone else before herself.

"Baby Girl, you are not listening to me," he perched himself on the side of the bed, "what I am saying to you now is the most important thing I have ever said to anyone. And I will keep saying it day in and day out until you listen," he waited until her eyes showed he had her full attention, " I . . . love . . . you."

Penelope didn't know what to say. Was she still dreaming? Because those nightmares had been pretty vivid, maybe it was the drugs, she was hallucinating.

"Angel, you're tired, you're emotional," she said.

"I . . . love . . . you" Derek repeated.

"I . . . I . . . don't know what to say." This was all her dreams come true, yet now she faltered.

"Don't say anything, but be assured I am a very determined guy and use to getting what I want. So unless you tell me that you don't want me, I will pursue you until I make you mine!"

Penelope smiled; "Sounds like fun!"

. . . . . . . .

"_We are all dependent on one another, every soul of us on earth."_

_**George Bernard Shaw**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Hunter Hunted**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I admit this bit has not been Beta'd – mainly because I got stuck and as I'm off on camp in two days I was running out of time to be fair to Flashpenguin. So here goes – all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Please forgive me.**

**This is set several months later.**

**. . . . .**

Garcia still couldn't quite believe her luck. As she sat in the garden enjoying the unseasonal sunshine, she smiled to herself.

If anyone would have told her at the start of the year that Derek Morgan would confess undying love for her and she would be living with him before the year was out, she'd have laughed in their face.

She had long coveted the love of her friend, but never thought he would be more than the best friend she could ever ask for. But now he was soooo much more.

"You OK, Baby Girl?" she heard him call, as he returned from work.

"Uh- huh," she called back, giving him a hint of where to find her.

As he sauntered out to find her, she could help but let her smile widen as he made his way over.

Leading down, he kissed her softly on the forehead, then full on the lips. Derek sat down, sharing the bench seat with her, Penelope snuggled into him; happy at the feel of his arms around her.

They sat in silence, comfortable but silent, appreciating each other's company. Pen still ached, but she was a lot better and hoped to return to work soon. She missed everyone and the silly little day in day out events, that Derek was useless at reporting back on. But right now, at this moment in time, she had everything she could need to make her happy.

Penelope had no idea what she had done to deserve this, and if you listened to Derek then apparently he was the lucky one, but whichever way it was. Penelope was glad it happened – even if it was a painful journey.

. . . . .

**Sorry it is short but I am rubbish at endings at the best of times and this just hasn't wanted to play. I felt something was needed to just round things off after the last chapter.**

**Thank you for the support and interest in this; it has been amazing and sooooo encouraging.**


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